Since I’ve lived in this house, my neighbor across the street has kept me informed on the whereabouts, health, and emotional well-being of the woman who lived here before me. I knew of her for a long time, although we didn’t really know each other. I was a little girl living down the street when she lived here with her granddaughter. She always seemed old to me then in the way that anyone seems old when you’re 6 or 7 years old.
It’s funny to me how you think you’re so separate from things when you’re young. The realization of connections happens so slowly. Looking back through the web of tethers of my life so far, I really enjoy picturing one from that “old” lady, to me as a little girl. I remember walking up to the door of this house when I was young with my best friend from those days. The lady’s granddaughter was older, and we liked her. She was nicer to us than some of the older kids. This is the only vivid memory I have of this woman, answering the door to the two of us asking if Brooke could come out. She must have been tending her garden in those days, planting flowers and shrubs that would be sweet surprises for the seedling gardener that I was when I moved in so many years later.
Yesterday, I learned from my neighbor across the street that this woman passed away. I’m grateful that this property was hers. I’m grateful that she was a gardener, and that she left so much beauty in place for me to tend when she left. I know from my neighbor that she was just as grateful to have another gardener take her place. It’s good to know someone in this loose way, reminding you of what a small world we have.
iris and roses
bloom still from gardeners past
like smiles from strangers